


that’s no good

by lejf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Tom Riddle, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/lejf
Summary: Tom, incoherent, filled with Harry's dick. That's it.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 23
Kudos: 697





	that’s no good

Tom Riddle had a plan. And, as a master strategist, cunning thief, and expert psychopath, his plans _never_ went awry. 

His employer, Harry... _something_ — curse the fact that master-strategist-cunning-thief-expert-psychopath Tom somehow could _not_ unearth his surname — said that he’d be going out today and leaving Tom to watch over the Dread Naught Draught brewing in the back. It was the perfect time for Tom to search for precious artefacts and the alleged locket of Slytherin that Harry alluded to keeping. 

The back of Borgin and Burkes (why Harry kept the name was probably tied into his elusive surname) was dark and cramped, and Tom eyed the cauldron sitting in the centre with suspicion. It popped a bubble back at him. The instructions pinned to the wall, beside a shelf of various twitching eyes, said ‘insult the potion until it turns clear’.Tom read the instructions, then twisted his expression into disgust. Such a menial task was beneath him. “You wretched thing,” he told the mixture, which formed a face in its surface that was a perfect replica of his dead father. Tom fell back in shock. 

The potion laughed at him. He briefly entertained blowing it to smithereens, but Harry would be disappointed in him, and disappointing Harry came with the terrible consequence of not having sex for a week. So, through gritted teeth, Tom told it that it wasn’t sentient at all and would meet a dastardly end at the stomach of lowlife scum. 

Still slightly cowed, he began his search of the shelves. Faces that Tom hoped were not made of real skin were stacked on top of each other. Beside them was a hairy heart filled with pins, and then an open scroll that detailed the preserving of human flesh. There was a hand built out of spider legs, a sheet of compressed moth wings, sections of human skulls, knucklebones, goblin eyes, a stuffed toy with ten limbs, an eye mask filled with teeth, a coil of innocuous-looking rope that Tom assumed had taken at least ten lives, and a great deal of things that frankly were sitting around without much order or rhyme. Tom was very careful about not touching them. 

He moved to the next shelf, and shouted over his shoulder at the cauldron, “You’re useless and disgusting.”

There were more worthless trinkets. There was an entire _bicycle_ leaning against the wall. Tom scanned each shelf critically for signs of the locket. The locket was _his_. His birthright, his to possess, and his to create his very first horcrux — since his plans for murdering that foolish girl had never seemed to pan out, and since the basilisk beneath Hogwarts said that it was taking a god-forsaken _vacation_ and promptly vanished. 

Suddenly something bright caught his eye. He saw, in a spot on a dusty shelf right by the stone walls, a locket, shining. When he came closer, he saw that its surface was studded with fantastic green jewels in the shape of a coiled S. 

He watched the way the light gleamed against its jewels for so long, entranced — because _this was it_ , it was finally _his_ — that the potion began bubbling indignantly on the other side of the shelf. 

“You’re no good,” Tom called to it, just to get it to shut up.

“You’re no good,” Harry repeated, right behind him. 

Tom jumped a foot into the air because he hadn’t heard _anything_ , not a whisper, not a footstep, not an Apparition, and he’d even set warning charms at the front of the store— and turned around. Harry was wool-headed most of the time. Tom was sure he could play it off. 

Harry was watching him with uncharacteristic intensity. Tom’s words died in his throat. Harry was a few inches shorter than him, but he did not feel shorter now. 

“Tom,” Harry said pleasantly. 

“I was just looking," Tom said. 

Harry only turned around and left, just as a great force clamped itself around Tom’s neck and he felt himself dragged along. He kicked his heels into the ground, noiselessly gasping, trying to clasp at the pressure against his throat, and was vaguely aware that Harry was taking him out of the back. Tom got a grip around his own wand, but it flew out of his hand almost immediately and into Harry’s. 

He was dumped over the counter. “You _lunatic_!” he gasped, “That was _uncalled_ for!” 

When he looked up, the store was dark because the windows had been shaded and the sign was flipped to closed. Harry was sitting on the seat that they usually occupied when they were manning the store. “Tom,” Harry said, again, and patted his lap. “You tried to steal from me. So it’s time for a punishment.”

“I didn’t even touch the locket,” Tom said. 

“ _Tom_.”

“Fine,” Tom said, because he loved having Harry’s cock in him anyway, and rucked up the back of his robes and sat into Harry’s lap. Harry fished out his dick in one practised move, slicked it up with a whispered spell, and then pressed into Tom. Tom felt the rush of sensation at its first breach as a shiver of full-bodied arousal and slumped forwards as Harry pressed deeper. His own dick had risen at the feeling of Harry’s thickness opening him up. 

Harry summoned the check book and then set it down on the counter. Tom stared at it in dismay. 

“Balance this page before I come or you’re not allowed to touch your dick.”

“You’re– _ah_!“ Harry thrust up into him and and the pull of his insides was a low burst of pleasure. “You’re the _devil_.” But he picked up the pencil anyway and stared hard at the numbers because _he wanted to come_ , and he was spoiled because he wanted Harry to pull on his dick and provide that tight friction so Tom could get hammered from behind and his dick fucked in the same instant. 

Harry grabbed him by taper of his waist, bunching up the robes there, and began fucking him in earnest. There was the perfect amount of lube that Tom liked where his rim wasn’t completely wet so it gripped the shaft of Harry’s cock with each in-and-out. Focusing on the numbers was pointless when all he could feel was the pressure against his prostate, fucking him hard, the top of Harry’s cock reaching deep into him, spreading him open, drowning out all thoughts until all he could think about was how good it felt when Harry was filling him.

Focus— Riddle— _focus_ —

Pleasure came in waves, and his head kept lolling forwards, and he had to fight to keep his eyes open. But the moaning and whimpering was a lost cause entirely. It was pathetic that he made the noises, but that didn’t seem to matter very much when he had Harry pounding him into next week. Why was Harry always so brutal anyway? His grip was so tight that he was half dragging Tom up and down his cock, but Tom liked the sensation of being so lost that he couldn’t think straight. He dropped the pencil, and then Harry said, panting, “Hold your legs to your chest.”

Tom didn’t process the words, so Harry had to slow down. “Fuck, fuck, Harry,” Tom said, breathing hard, because he didn’t know if he wanted more or if his hole needed a break, Harry was being so brutal— and Harry said, “C’mon, Tom.”

Tom leaned back against Harry and held his legs to his check, exposing his drooling dick and his flushed-red hole and where Harry was plugged huge and invasively in him.

Harry _stood_ up. Tom had a moment of utter weightlessness when he did, and then gravity caught up and he could feel himself sinking impossibly deeper onto Harry’s dick, and his head fell back against Harry’s shoulder and he moaned like an open-mouthed cheap whore. When he opened his eyes, it was bright, because the windows were unshaded. He could see the stretch of Knockturn Alley — thankfully empty, but it wouldn’t be for long — out before him and the street could see him back and he said, “ _Harry are you out of your mind–_ ”

“Better come fast," Harry said, and slammed him down on the counter, and thrust so deep that Tom lost control over his words and began breathlessly yelling instead. He clutched the other end of the counter and tried to bear down, because Harry was driving into him and rocking him forwards, and was aware just how debauched he looked — the Head Boy of Hogwarts — spread out over a table in Knockturn Alley being fucked by a shady man at least five years his senior for everyone to see — panting and begging shamelessly to _ah ah fuck me please please please ah—_

And it came to a crest, the friction against the table and the sensation of Harry pounding his prostate and then shoving himself as far into Tom as he could, coming into him as though he could knock him up, coming just so he could fill Tom up — had Tom screaming himself hoarse and spilling all over the table. Panting, he raised his head, and saw the stunned expression of a wizard out on Knockturn staring back at him. 

The window went dark suddenly. Harry had shaded them again. 

“Thank you for _decimating_ my– _ah!_ ” The flared head of Harry’s cock leaving him had him gasping. “My _reputation_.”

“Yeah, right,” Harry said, and pushed his callused fingers into Tom’s hole. Tom clenched around him and moaned helplessly. “You liked that. I could tell.”

Harry began fucking him with his fingers almost leisurely. Tom squirmed and blushed to the tip of his ears, humiliated. “Don’t do that again,” he warned. 

“I’ll ask next time."

Tom rocked back on Harry's hand, trying to urge him to faster. His spent cock gave an interested twitch at the thought of being fucked outside, or maybe behind curtains, or against a window— or maybe he could sit in Harry’s lap warming his cock while he served customers — and he said, sulkily, while Harry teased his prostate, “ _Fine_.”

If anything was given, however, he would certainly be trying to steal from Harry again. That locket was _his_.

Later, he’d realise it was a fake, but only after being thrown against various walls and being filled to the brim with cock and Harry’s come several times. But sometimes things were about the journey, not the destination. Never let it be said that Tom Riddle didn’t have flexible plans. 

**Author's Note:**

> well,


End file.
